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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855329">Witches Don't Bang</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersome/pseuds/Cumbersome'>Cumbersome</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witches Do Awkward [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Witches Don't Bang</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/F, Femslash, Romance</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-04-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 21:40:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Mature</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>6,823</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23855329</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cumbersome/pseuds/Cumbersome</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>A companion piece to Witches in Trees. Only it's Narcissa who has herself up a tree. Metaphorically. Because she is much too posh to sit in a tree.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Narcissa Black Malfoy</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Witches Do Awkward [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1718983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>268</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Witches Don't Bang</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/KristinawithaK/gifts">KristinawithaK</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Helllllooooooo everyone! Just a tic of your time and we'll get this boat rowing.</p><p>I would like to give credit of the title to KristinawithaK, and also for planting the idea into my far too receptive brain. I would also like to thank them for listening to me winge in the comments about shipping uncertainties. I have a really, really, really difficult time making up my mind. It's appalling. </p><p>And of course, thanks to everyone who takes the time to read this little story. I can never say it enough, you all make my experience here seriously enjoyable. I'm a bit shy to put this one out, but I hate to leave it festering on my hard drive, so here we are! This can technically be read as a stand alone, so if you don't care to read the story before this one, you won't miss anything except a few chuckles. As always, enjoy, be kind to yourself and others and have a fantastic day!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Standing at the library window, Narcissa watches rain lash against the cool glass, water beading and sliding in shivering trails. She shivers, snuggling deeper into the soft blanket around her shoulders, pressing her nose close to the steaming cup of tea in her hands. </p><p>  She is most herself in the light of early morning. Everything quiet save for the ticking of clocks, the faint workings of an ancient house. The air blue and grey in the predawn hours, the trees dark brown against the misted sky, ice gathered in trickles and rivulets on their bark. She takes a deep breath and she can practically smell the air outside, wet leaves and dirt, sparkling frost on the dark roofs. </p><p>  A door opens behind her, quietly. Hermione Granger does not notice Narcissa at the window, creeping into the room with her shoes in her hands, her hair disheveled. She drops onto an overstuffed couch with a deep sigh, throwing her socked feet onto the coffee table. She moans, closing her eyes. </p><p>  Safe from Hermione’s notice, Narcissa takes a moment to examine the girl. </p><p>  She smirks as she traces her eyes over her; her hair, tangled and wild. Her lashes, long and dark against her cheeks. Her lips, frowning adorably at some inner turmoil. And the rest of her....Ah, but Narcissa is a lady. She would never take advantage of an unsuspecting woman. </p><p>  Well, perhaps not blatantly. </p><p>  She clears her throat. </p><p>  Hermione starts violently, falling from the couch with a clash of elbows hitting the floor. </p><p>  Narcissa is quick to set her drink aside, moving to help the stuttering girl from the floor. She presses a firm hand to her shoulder blades and takes her upper arm, guiding her to stand. </p><p>  “I’m sorry to have startled you, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa says, sweeping her gaze quickly over the flushing girl. </p><p>  “It’s Hermione,” the girl says, letting out a harsh breath. “Just Hermione.” </p><p>  Narcissa gives a prim smile and hums. She gestures to the couch, taking a seat herself. She settles herself carefully, crossing her legs, pulling the blanket closer about her throat. </p><p>  Hermione settles on the edge of the couch, her hands nervous, flighty things. Smoothing her hair, tugging her clothes into place. She feels a gibbering mess under those bright eyes, a knot of flushing anxiety. </p><p>  Narcissa smiles. “Did you have a good evening?” </p><p>  Hermione’s face heats, bursts into a raging inferno. She swallows, looking down at her fingers twisting the hem of her shirt into wrinkles. “Erm…” </p><p>  Narcissa waves a gentile hand. “All this sneaking about it unnecessary. I’m aware of your relationship with my sister. We’re quite close.” </p><p>  “Oh, well, I know but -” Hermione coughs, grimaces as she tugs on an earlobe. “It’s not sneaking per say. It’s only I don’t have very much time with my apprenticeship, and I’m wearing myself thin between Bella and my work. I don’t think I’ve had a full night’s sleep in a month.” </p><p>  “So I’ve heard.” </p><p>  Hermione is sure she will burst into flame. She can practically smell her hair smoking. </p><p>  Narcissa laughs and it’s throaty, her eyes glinting. “Would you like breakfast, Ms. Granger?” </p><p>  Hermione blinks. Somehow, she expected a different response. “Get out of my house, peasant!” maybe. Or perhaps a healthy sneer. Certainly not an offer of eggs and bacon. </p><p>  “Have you swallowed your tongue?” Narcissa asks, arching one finely groomed brow. </p><p>  “Yes. I mean no. No, I haven’t swallowed my tongue. And yes, breakfast would be lovely.” </p><p>  “Excellent.” Narcissa stands, the blanket slipping from her shoulders. Beneath is barely anything at all, a thin shift haphazardly covered by the softest looking cardigan. She appears to be cold in the morning air. </p><p>  Hermione nearly chokes. She quickly adverts her gaze, frantically looking for anything to rest her eyes on that is not Narcissa. Or Narcissa's chilled and tightened anatomy.</p><p>  Narcissa, smiling like a cat with a fresh prize, shifts the cardigan to cover herself. “I’ll make myself presentable. Why don’t we meet in the kitchen in say, five minutes?” </p><p>  Hermione needs at least an hour to gather her wits. But she nods, still not daring to meet Narcissa’s eyes. </p><p>  The door closes and Hermione lets out a strangled breath. She collapses back on the couch, throwing her forearm over her eyes.</p><p>  What was that? What in Merlin’s saggy sack was that reaction? She is flushed from head to toe, overheated, all but broken out in a cold sweat. </p><p>  She is Hermione Granger; she doesn’t stutter, she doesn’t blush. She is a grown woman, by Merlin, not some hormone riddled, panicked teenager. </p><p>  She blinks. Actually, she is all of the latter. </p><p>  Curse this body! she thinks. </p><p>  She seethes. She is not a slave to her body. She can control herself. She can be composed. Calm. Collected. Sophisticated. Mature. </p><p>  She lets out a small frustrated scream, kicking the coffee table. She has forgotten her foot is bare and she stubs her toes, all five of them at once, and screams again, clutching her injured foot. </p><p>  She is so typical it hurts. Worse than stubbed toes, which is a death all of its own.</p><p>  She is a hormone riddled teenager. She is a fumbling idiot, a tongue tied twit. And Narcissa...well Narcissa is a woman. Everything that encompasses that word. Powerful. Intelligent. Fierce. Beautiful. </p><p>  Very, very beautiful. Especially her ni-</p><p>  And also Bella’s sister, reminds a prim little voice. Or have you forgotten, you randy animal?  </p><p>  Hermione groans, pressing her burning forehead to her knees. </p><p>  Bella. Beautiful, proud, vicious Bella. Bella whose eyes are so dark and deep; whose mouth tastes like perfection, whose hands are a perfect balance of rough and soft. Bella, Bella, Bella, Bella. Like an echo of her heart.</p><p>  And yet, here she sits, her thoughts not directed towards Bellatrix, but towards Narcissa. </p><p>  She could kick herself. If her foot didn’t feel like tiny pieces of hot, splintered bones, she might have tried. Instead, she calms herself, smoothing down her shirt. </p><p>  “Get your head together,” she says aloud. “Brains, not loins.” </p><p>  She has every intention, she really does. Like a New Year’s resolution, she is fierce, a mental plan of attack laid out, determined not to crumble. She plays an encouraging song in her head, her inner voice dodging and weaving, uppercutting.  </p><p>  She takes a deep breath, exhaling through her nose. </p><p>  You can do this. Clean thoughts. CleanfuckingthoughtspleasehelpmeMERLIN.</p><p>  Her good intentions fall flat as soon as she pushes open the kitchen door. They come to an abrupt halt, face planting on the floor like a bag of bricks dropped into an empty pool. They shatter. </p><p>  Narcissa stands near the stove, wand in one hand, juice in the other. She directs pots and pans, eagle eyed over the eggs. The apron around her waist is white and spotless. Her hair is up, bits of loose strands tickling her neck. Her lips are red and her eyes are so blue it makes Hermione's heart ache. </p><p>  Narcissa spares Hermione a glance. “How do you like your bacon, Ms. Granger?” </p><p>  Charred black, like her shitty good intentions. </p><p>  Hermione clears her throat. “Chewy, please.” </p><p>  Narcissa nods. “Please sit. You make me nervous lingering in the doorway like a wraith.” </p><p>  Hermione sits at the small kitchen island, ducking her head to avoid the swaying pots and pans hanging from the rack above. She clasps her hands on the island, tucking her feet against the legs of the stool she sits on. </p><p>  The food cooking, Narcissa ambles over, a bowl of strawberries in hand. Hermione finds her eyes drawn downwards. Long legs, perfectly muscled. She can practically imagine her thighs, firm to touch, wrapping around her and - She blinks down at Narcissa's footwear.</p><p>  Who cooks breakfast in heels? she wonders. </p><p>  Narcissa Black, you idiot. That’s who. </p><p>  There’s a gentle tap on her chin and she looks up, finds herself drowning in blue eyes. </p><p>  Narcissa’s expression is careful, her eyes intent. She looks at Hermione’s mouth, holding a strawberry near her lips. “Open up.” </p><p>  Fuck. </p><p>  Obediently, Hermione opens her mouth. Narcissa slips the fruit past her lips, settling it gently against the tip of her tongue, the flesh of the fruit seeded and cold. Her gaze flickers, a quick breath escaping her lips as Hermione bites down, her eyes meeting Narcissa’s. She bites the strawberry neatly, leaving only the green stem. She raises her hand to brush her fingers over her lips, but Narcissa catches her wrist. </p><p>  “Allow me,” she says, and swipes her thumb over Hermione’s bottom lip, gathering any stray strawberry juice. She meets Hermione's eyes and raises that same thumb tip to her mouth. She purses her lips and sucks it clean.</p><p>  Hermione’s eyes widen. She feels suddenly faint, her eyes on the thumb caught between Narcissa’s teeth. She grips the edge of the island, her knuckles turning white. </p><p>  “Thank you,” Narcissa says. “That tastes lovely.” </p><p>  Hermione chokes.</p><p>  She didn’t. Merlin’s spotted dick, did she just give her bedroom eyes and thank her?</p><p>  But Narcissa is moving away, settling herself across the island from her. She gives a casual wave of her wand and the cooked food plates itself, the plates landing with precision in front of their intended targets. </p><p>  Smiling, Narcissa uses a finger to push a glass of juice towards Hermione. “Eat.” </p><p>  Hermione does. Ignoring her flaming face, she picks up her knife and fork, cutting into an egg. She admires the yellow of the yolk as it oozes over the bacon. She suddenly realizes how hungry she is and takes a bite, her eyes slipping closed as she chews. </p><p>  She groans. “Merlin, that is perfect.” </p><p>  Narcissa smiles. Like Hermione, she eats slowly, with precision. They sit quietly, enjoying their food and each other’s presence. </p><p>  A time later, there is a patter of feet and a loud yawn. Bellatrix bangs through the kitchen door loudly, a fist scrubbing sleep from her eyes, her mouth twisted in jaw cracking yawn. She sniffs, picking up the scent of food. </p><p>  “Merlin on a churning spit, is that bacon?” </p><p>  Hermione nearly exits her body as she feels Bella’s fingers drag over her neck. The small witch stands at her side, poking a finger through her plate until she finds the perfect bit of bacon. She snaps it up, chewing happily. </p><p>  “Good morning, ladies,” Bellatrix says. </p><p>  “Bella.” Narcissa acknowledges. </p><p>  Hermione lets out a strangled cough. </p><p>  Bella gives her a curious look, brushing her thumb over the corner of her mouth. “Are you alright?” </p><p>  Hermione takes a breath. </p><p>  “Hermione.” </p><p>  Hermione looks up. Narcissa holds a piece of toast in hand, buttered and jammed to perfection. She offers it with a smile. </p><p>  Hermione looks at Bellatrix. Bellatrix looks between her sister and Hermione. </p><p>  A sly smile tugs at the corner of Bellatrix’s mouth, her eyes suddenly smoky and dark. “Go on, pet. Take a bite.” </p><p>  Hesitantly, Hermione leans forward, closing her teeth over the edge of the toast. She withdraws, chewing, trying not to think about the fact that she can smell Narcissa’s perfume and Bella’s shampoo, and it's all too much for her tight chest. She chews frantically, the toast like ash on her dry tongue, and swallows with difficulty.</p><p>  "You have something," Narcissa's says, pointing at her own lips. "Just here." </p><p>  Feigning concern, Bellatrix examines Hermione's flaming face. "You do. Let me get that for you."</p><p>  Hermione freezes. Bellatrix slides her fingers along her jaw, her eyes slipping closed, her lips drawing close...</p><p>  Letting out a yelp, Hermione leaps to her feet, putting much needed distance between herself and Bellatrix. She looks down at her wrist, checking a watch that is definitely not there. </p><p>  "Look at that," she rambles. "Late again." </p><p>  She leaves so quickly that the kitchen door swings on its hinges in her wake. Bellatrix and Narcissa look at each other. </p><p>  The door creaks again and they turn their heads to see a flushing Hermione stick her head back into the room.</p><p>  "Erm, sorry," she says. "I just wanted to, uh, thank you, Ms. Black. For breakfast. It was lovely." </p><p>  “Call me Narcissa, Ms. Granger.” </p><p>  Hermione’s face pales. Her mouth opens and closes. Unable to find the words, she lets out a croak and ducks out of sight. </p><p>  “Sister, sister,” Bellatrix sings, crocodile grin broad and toothy. “Are you trying to seduce my mudblood?” </p><p>  Narcissa brushes crumbs from her hands. “Would you be terribly angry if I am?” </p><p>  Bellatrix touches her face, drawing her gaze down to her own. “I’ve never minded sharing with you, little sister.” </p><p>  She brushes a chaste kiss against her lips. </p><p>  She bounces away with a quick laugh and a wave over her shoulder. “Just don’t break her! I like this one.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  Hermione is frazzled. Her hair is in tangles, her tie skewed, ink stains on her shirt sleeves. Master of Literature Wimbleton Stylish peers over her shoulder, his bushy white eyebrows drawn down in a deep frown. </p><p>  He examines her work with stubby fingers, inspecting the newly repaired binding, the refinished pages. </p><p>  “No magic,” he says.</p><p>  “None, sir.” </p><p>  He lets out a breath, gently resting the ancient book on the green work mat. He clasps his hands behind his back, peering down at the young witch through dusty lenses. </p><p>  “Excellent work, Granger.” </p><p>  Hermione lets out a relieved breath. “Thank you, sir.” </p><p>  He hems and haws. “That is not to say that the road ahead is not long and fraught with trials. You are nowhere near ready. However, you’ve done fine work today. Off with you, witch.” </p><p>  Hermione positively beams. She is quick to gather up her belongings, shrugging into her coat as she rushes from the stuffy Room of Ancients, down the spiraling marble stairs, passing the massive, towering walls lined with books that consists of the entrance hall of the library. The bell above the door gives a modest jingle as she bursts out onto the street. </p><p>  She is elated, unable to stifle her smile. Free time! She can’t remember the last time she has had any such thing. The last few months have been a whirl, between Bellatrix and her apprenticeship to Master Stylish. She’s not had a moment to herself. Perhaps she will head back to her flat, draw a scalding hot bath, pour a large glass of wine, and find a book that is read for the simple pleasure of it. She will submerge herself and she will become lost, forgetting about the world around her for a few precious hours. </p><p>  Fate, it would seem, has different plans for her.  </p><p>  Narcissa Black, dressed in blue robes and heels so sharp they should be categorized as lethal, waits for her, leaning casually against the statue of Adalbert Waffling in the square. She smiles as she sees Hermione notice her, straightening. </p><p>  “Hot chocolate,” she says, pressing a warm paper cup into Hermione's hands. </p><p>  “Oh.” Hermione says, blinking owlishly. “I mean, thank you. Very much. That’s very thoughtful.” </p><p>  “May I walk with you?” </p><p>  “Oh, please do. I’m done with the day and I seem to find myself at loose ends. I'm not sure what to do with myself.” </p><p>  Narcissa smiles. She slips her arm through Hermione’s, bringing them close as they set off through the snow. “Tell me about this apprenticeship of yours.” </p><p>  With great enthusiasm and expansive hand gestures, Hermione launches into an explanation. She studies under the fabulous, the astounding and bespectacled, Wimbleton Stylish - the man, the myth, the legend himself. </p><p>  “My eyes are on the Curatorship,” she explains. “Mr. Stylish oversees an expansive library of magical books, and books that are particularly rare. In certain cases, his library holds the last known copies of certain works. I am learning to interpret them, to repair and care for them, and to spot possible new additions. Well, I suppose that’s a mouthful. As Ron says, I’m working towards being a very stuffy and well paid librarian.” </p><p>  Narcissa sniffs. “The Weasley boy is a flummox. There is nothing stuffy about it at all.” </p><p>  Hermione gives her a shy, pleased smile. “I suppose not.” </p><p>  Narcissa pauses. She reaches out, wrapping her fingers around the ends of Hermione’s scarf. Snowflakes fall from the sky, kissing her pale lashes. “Do you like ice skating?” </p><p>  “I do.” </p><p>  “Well. If you would care to give me your afternoon, I have just a place in mind. It’s remote. But very beautiful.” </p><p>  The way that her gaze lingers as she says the word beautiful, her pale cheeks flushed with the cold, her teeth very white and sharp as she smiles...</p><p>  Hermione shivers and it has nothing to do with the cold. </p><p>  “I would like that,” she hears her voice say. With more confidence than she feels. </p><p>  Narcissa smiles and holds out her hand. “Do hold on, Ms. Granger. I don’t care for blood.” </p><p>  When Hermione opens her eyes, she is standing at the edge of a frozen lake. She gasps at the sight before her, her breath stolen by the beauty of it. </p><p>  The ice is smooth, as black as night, stretching as far as the eyes can along tree lined banks. Hills surround them, dotted with spruce and fir trees and tangles of brush and thorns. The ground is covered in fresh snow, craggy mountains bathed in the orange glow of a setting sun in the distance. At her back is a cabin, a cozy little thing, barely bigger than a shed. </p><p>  Hermione nearly laughs at the sight of Narcissa balancing in the deep snow on her ungodly high heels. She tightens her hold on Hermione’s hand, giving her an uncertain look. </p><p>  She clears her throat. “I’m sorry. Would you mind terribly helping me to the cabin door? I find myself in an unstable predicament.” </p><p>  Hermione bites her tongue but there is humor in her eyes, a warm glow to her cheeks. “Happily.” </p><p>  When Narcissa steps from her shoes, Hermione is pleasantly surprised to find her at her own height. They stand eye to eye, the crystals of their breath mixing in the air. A lock of hair has escaped from its fellows, falling across Narcissa's forehead. Hermione brushes it aside with gloved fingers, her touch lingering.</p><p>  “Ms. Granger?” </p><p>  “Mm?”</p><p>  “You can let go of my hand now.” </p><p>  “Oh.” Hermione releases her hand, giving a sheepish grin as she steps back. </p><p>  “I’ll just be a moment.” </p><p>  The cabin is dark, save for the shaft of light let in from the open door. Narcissa lights her wand, peering along the nearest wall. She is quick to find a pair of old boots, shoving her icy feet inside with a sigh. The skates are nearby. Knowing Hermione and herself are near to the same size, she picks a two pairs of matching skates and sets out. </p><p>  Outside in the cold air, she finds herself alone. Confused, she turns, her eyes darting about the winter landscape. </p><p>  “Ms. Granger?” she calls. There is no answer. “Hermione!” </p><p>  Something hits her in the chest, a splash of cold powdering her lower face. She looks down in surprise, finding pebbles of snow scattered across her robes. </p><p>  Laughing, Hermione waves cheekily from behind a snow drift. “Hermione is it now? Was that a note of panic I heard?” </p><p>  “I do not panic.” Narcissa drops the skates to the ground and shrugs out of her robes. She gives her winter coat a brush down, straightening it at the hem. She removes her gloves, discarding them next to the skates. Then slowly, her eyes on the grinning teenager, she leans down, scooping up a handful of snow. </p><p>  “Come out from behind that snow, Hermione Granger.” </p><p>  “I don’t think I will. I think you will have to come get me, Narcissa Black.” </p><p>  Narcissa’s eyes flash. “As you wish.” </p><p>  Laughing wildly, Hermione ducks behind the snow drift. What Narcissa cannot see from her inferior position outside of the drift is the pile of snowballs Hermione had hastily crushed together while Narcissa poked about the cabin. They are piled together, a veritable treasure of them. </p><p>  But Hermione, sweet summer child that she is, expects Narcissa to play fair. Narcissa intends no such thing. </p><p>  What follows is a battle so epic, so grand, so acrobatic that tales of it should be sung alongside the likes of The Odyssey. </p><p>  Smirking at Hermione’s overconfidence, Narcissa tosses the snowball in her hand into the air and catches it. She gives a lazy flick of her wand and the snow covered branch above Hermione’s head shivers violently, dumping an appalling amount of ice and snow on the girl’s head. Her laughter ceases and there is silence. </p><p>  Her head pops around the snow drift, cheeks red and wet with melted snow. “It’s going to be like that, is it?” </p><p>  Narcissa smiles. Hermione lets out a cry as a snowball smashes across her face. “War it is then, woman!” </p><p>  “Gryffindors, all talk and no action.” </p><p>  Hermione doesn’t reply. Seeing that traditional methods will get her nowhere, she spells the pile of snowballs, sending them whistling through the air like diving birds. </p><p>  Narcissa is already running. She laughs, shielding her head with her arms as the snowballs pelt down from the sky. Forgoing strategy, she decides a direct frontal assault is required. And so she picks up as much speed as she can, crashing through the snow drift, leaving a Narcissa shaped hole in the snow as she tumbles through. </p><p>  Hermione gives a shout, leaping to her feet as she stares down at the flushed witch in the snow. She makes to dart away, but Narcissa is quick, catching her pant leg. A tug and Hermione tumbles, landing with an oof! on her back. Narcissa snickers, scooping up a handful of snow, planting it with a scrubbing motion in her face. </p><p>  “You didn’t!” Hermione shouts. </p><p>  “I’m sorry, did you fall? Here, let me help you.” </p><p>  To Hermione’s surprise, Narcissa rolls over on top of her, pinning her wrists in the snow. She leans down, their faces close, pressing her warm mouth against her ear. </p><p>  “Do you give up?” Narcissa whispers. </p><p>  Merlin, but she smells perfect. Like mossy bark and pine nettles, like fresh snow. And something distinctly her, sharp and clean. </p><p>  Her lips brushing against her ear are warm, wet from her tongue. Hermione shudders underneath her. She flushes with embarrassment, knowing with painful certainty that the older witch felt her reaction. She feels her smile, a nip of teeth against her earlobe. </p><p>  “I’m disappointed, if I’m honest,” Narcissa continues. “Bella said you were impressive. I’m not impressed. A Gryffindor of your renown, defeated so easily. And by a Slytherin no less.” </p><p>  Hermione says nothing. She lets out a breath, the warm air from her lungs crystallizing. She notes Narcissa’s position straddled over her hips, leaving her vulnerable in a way she hasn’t considered. </p><p>  She allows a stutter into her voice. “Y-you’re right. I’m terribly embarrassed.” </p><p>  “You should be. Now there is only the matter of my prize.” </p><p>  “Hm. I’m sure two reasonable witches such as ourselves could come up with something.” </p><p>  Narcissa all but purrs in her ear. “Really? And what do you have in mind, Ms. Granger?” </p><p>  Smirking, Hermione rolls her hips up, using the seam of her jeans to provide friction to where Narcissa is most sensitive. She is rewarded with a strangled gasp, a warm of exhalation against her ear. Her fingers loosen in her surprise and it is the only advantage Hermione needs. She is quick to push up, pulling her hands free. But she does not account for the fact that they are on a hill. And so, as she throws herself up, Narcissa leans back away from her, too far, and begins to fall. Hermione gives a shout, grabbing at her hand to catch her, but momentum catches them both and they go rolling, their legs tangling. </p><p>  Laughing, Hermione wraps her hands around Narcissa’s head, protecting her from the hard rocks hidden in the snow. It is only a few tumbles and they come to a stop in a spray of snow. Hermione, triumphant and gasping, is on top. Narcissa is very still beneath her. Too still. </p><p>  “Hey,” Hermione says, touching her face, a knot of anxiety twisting in her stomach. “Narcissa. Are you okay?” </p><p>  She leans down when the witch doesn’t reply, her brow creasing with worry. She swears, palming her icy cheeks. </p><p>  It is then that she sees a twitch in the corner of her mouth, a flicker of her eyelids. </p><p>  “You bitch,” Hermione shouts. </p><p>  Narcissa loses her composure, laughing loudly, her arms folding around Hermione’s neck. </p><p>  “That is not funny!” Hermione scolds. </p><p>  “It’s very funny. I can’t believe you fell for it.” </p><p>  “You ass -” </p><p>  She is cut off, Narcissa’s lips catching her own. They are very soft and they taste like rain and they shut her up instantly, with a soft whimper and a raise of eyebrows.</p><p>  Hermione knows she should pull away. She should put distance between herself and the warm body beneath her own. She certainly shouldn’t kiss Narcissa back. She shouldn’t slide her hand around to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss, their lips and noses cold, but their mouths so very warm. </p><p>  Narcissa’s mind, much like Hermione and Bellatrix months before her, does a quick analysis, a perusal of the current state of affairs, such as they are.</p><p>  It was easy to see when Bella and Hermione slipped into one another’s orbits. Their eyes catching, secret smiles and lingering touches. Late nights with the bedroom door shut fast. Snack runs in the middle of the night. Giggles in the hallway. </p><p>  Bellatrix told Narcissa that it was Hermione’s kindness that drew her, her golden heart. But for Narcissa, perhaps as she watched from the outside, it is not so simple. </p><p>  She received the teenager into her home with reticence. She seemed too young, too wide eyed. Too inexperienced in love and life to be tangling with someone so much older than herself. It was easy to forget who she was, the things she had seen and done. At least until she flashed that smile, pinned Narcissa with those brown eyes. And when she spoke, she was quiet, concise. Her focus was intense, looking at Narcissa like she was the only person in the world, hers the only words that mattered. </p><p>  Perhaps it was the night she drunkenly tried to climb through the doggy door. Narcissa was off to bed herself, just snuffing a candle when she heard a clatter, a bang and a swear. Wand clenched in her hand, she threw open the door, only to find a giggling girl on her welcome mat. She had apologized, melting into Narcissa’s arms as she helped her up.</p><p>  “Wanted to see Bella,” Hermione had explained. “But I couldn’t...I couldn’t find the bloody door.” </p><p>  “Bella isn’t here,” Narcissa said. She was careful with her, laying her across the couch, removing her shoes and shocks, helping her out of her coat. She rubbed warmth into her fingers, blowing on them until the blue left her fingernails. She covered her with a blanket and was leaving when those same fingers caught her own, pulling her back. </p><p>  “Stay,” Hermione had said, her eyes oddly clear, seeing her, watching her with fascination. She touched Narcissa’s hair, brushing her fingers down her neck. And Narcissa stayed. She made herself as comfortable as she could on the hard floor and held Hermione’s hand. It was morning when she woke, her head on Hermione’s stomach, Bella watching them with a smile from the doorway. </p><p>  But no, that wasn’t it. It was the book. A small gift, wrapped in soft blue paper, tied with an even softer ribbon. The Collected Works of William Shakespeare. A new copy, the pages still smelling of the press, dark ink and blindingly white paper. And tucked into the pages a pressed flower; Larkspur, dark blue and fragrant, smelling of summer fields and hot sun.</p><p>  Hermione’s face as she watched her open it, not quite meeting her eyes, her expression anxious, her cheeks tinted red. </p><p>  “I saw it and thought of you,” Hermione said. “I hope I haven’t overstepped.” </p><p>  She thought of her. Ridiculously, that was enough. That was all it took. </p><p>  Was she that lonely? That starved for affection? No. When she examines her feelings, they do not stem for desperation. But a sort of swelling pride, a warm blossom of confidence. Because it was her; Hermione. It could have been anyone else in the world and it would not have touched her. But for her...Narcissa wants to live in her thoughts, to tangle around her tongue, to stroke her spine in the small hours. She wants to press her lips to her throat and breathe her.</p><p>  And so she finds herself cushioned in snow, Hermione warm against her, her tongue clever as it dances with her own, her mouth tasting of chocolate and mint. </p><p>  Foolish, she chides herself. But her heart is fragile and Hermione is a flame in a dark night, the only warmth for miles. </p><p>  They part slowly, reluctantly, their lips lingering. Narcissa touches Hermione’s throat, stares at her lips. </p><p>  Something wet falls on her cheek. Alarmed, she darts her eyes up to find Hermione crying, tear drops trembling on the tips of her eyelashes. </p><p>  “Am I that terrible of a kisser,” Narcissa asks, sitting up, pulling the girl against her. </p><p>  “No.” Hermione sniffles. “You’re perfect. I’m just...I’m just so angry with myself.” </p><p>  “Why?” </p><p>  “I shouldn’t have done that. I shouldn’t have kissed you.” The anguish in the younger witch’s eyes surprises her, breaks her heart. “I shouldn’t want to kiss you. I love Bella, and I don’t understand what I’m feeling.” </p><p>  Narcissa can’t help herself. She laughs. Relieved, happy that it is only a matter of conscience, not revulsion. “Is that all?” </p><p>  Hermione stares. “What do you mean, is that all? That’s pretty bloody big, I’d say.” </p><p>  Narcissa chuckles. “Bella knows, Hermione.” </p><p>  “Excuse me?” </p><p>  “She knows we’re here. And I’m sure she has a good idea what we’re doing.” </p><p>  “So you wanted to kiss me. You planned this. And Bellatrix agreed?” </p><p>  “Yes, yes and yes.” </p><p>  Hermione’s reaction is not what Narcissa would have hoped. Her eyes narrow, the color draining from her cheeks. Her nostrils flare. And that mouth, that soft beautiful mouth, hardens. She quickly untangles herself from Narcissa’s arms, standing. </p><p>  “So what you’re telling me,” she says, her voice dangerously soft, “is that you two planned this. Without telling me.” </p><p>  “Well, you can’t very well tell someone you’re trying to seduce them.” </p><p>  “Seduce?” Hermione splutters. “What am I? A toy? An object to be passed back and forth when one of you gets bored?” </p><p>  Standing as well, Narcissa reaches for the raging girl, but Hermione brushes her away. </p><p>  “How could you ever think that?” Narcissa asks. </p><p>  “How could I not?” </p><p>  “Hermione, be reasonable.” </p><p>  It’s the wrong thing to say and Narcissa knows it as soon as the words leave her mouth. Hermione stiffens, her eyes darkening. She steps into Narcissa’s space, jabbing her in the chest with a sharp finger. </p><p>  “You tell Bellatrix - you tell her -” she can’t find the words, stuttering and glaring and crying. “Oh shit. To hell with you both.” </p><p>  And she’s gone, Disapparating, leaving Narcissa to gape with an open mouth at nothing.</p><p>  Narcissa sighs. </p><p>  “Well, that did not go as planned.” </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>  Hermione ignores the owls Bellatrix sends. She throws away the flowers Narcissa has delivered. For weeks she ignores them. She wakes up one morning, and finds a prettily wrapped box on her doorstep. She sets it safely in the snow and promptly lights it on fire. </p><p>  The next morning, instead of a box, there is a kitten. Mewling and wrapped in a tiny sweater to keep it from the cold, it pushes a black little nose from its basket, blinking up with large green eyes.</p><p>  The kitten she keeps. For Crookshanks. She names him Pickle. </p><p>  The Black sisters seem to take it as encouragement. Following the kitten is a rather large fruit basket. Hermione gives the basket to a neighbor. </p><p>  And then, one night, she lays sprawled across the rug on her living room floor. She stares at the ceiling, jogging an ankle where it crosses over her knee. She is very drunk. There is a pile of tear sodden tissues near, an empty tub of ice cream next to them, the spoon sticking out of the container like some conquering sword. </p><p>  Music. Loud music. Muggle music. </p><p>  Curious, she follows the music to the window. Throwing the window open, she winces against a blast of icy air and squints down into the street below. </p><p>  And finds Bellatrix Black standing below, balancing a Muggle radio on a trashcan. She is dressed casually, in a coat and pants and the softest looking shirt. The voice from the radio sings of love and loss and heartbreak. Bellatrix beams to see Hermione’s face, waving excitedly. </p><p>  “Where did you get that?” Hermione asks. </p><p>  “I know a man who knows another man who knows a horse that knows a Muggle.” </p><p>  Hermione stares. </p><p>  Bellatrix grins. “Actually. I borrowed it. From Arthur Weasley. And he gave me the music! He said that Molly positively quivers every time he plays it. Are you quivering?” </p><p>  With rage. </p><p>  Teeth clenched, Hermione goes to slam the window. She thinks better of it at the last second, craning her neck out of the window. “Go home, Bellatrix! People are trying to sleep!” </p><p>  And drown their sorrows with kittens and wine and chocolate ice cream. </p><p>  Hermione’s head disappears and Bellatrix panics. </p><p>  “Hermione!” </p><p>  Her angry scowl reappears. “What?”</p><p>  “I miss you.” </p><p>  Bellatrix ducks, narrowly avoiding a wine bottle that comes flying from Hermione’s window. The glass shatters against the ice on the ground and Bellatrix tuts.</p><p>  “Hermione!” </p><p>  “WHAT?” </p><p>  Bellatrix flashes her. Hermione’s window slams shut. </p><p>  Bemused, Bellatrix lowers her shirt and shivers. </p><p>  But the tits always do it…</p><p>  She hears a cough and looks up. An elderly woman leans out her window, her knuckles crammed into her mouth as she tries not to cackle. </p><p>  “You find this funny, do you?” Bellatrix shouts up at her. </p><p>  The woman finally lets the laugh burst out, her shoulders shaking, her head thrown back. Bellatrix takes the laughter in silence, her arms crossed, unimpressed. </p><p>  “Sorry, sorry,” the woman says, still laughing. “Give her your knickers, girl. Put them in her pocket. Did that for me husband when he felt a certain type of way. And give her good tonguing. Oral sex is the survival of all relationships.” </p><p>  Bellatrix shakes her fist at her. “We’re bloody women, what do you think we’re doing!” </p><p>  “Oh, is that all you can do, love? Maybe that’s why she won’t keep your gifts.” </p><p>  Bellatrix gapes as the old woman shuts her window, still cackling.</p><p>  The next morning, hungover and red eyed, Hermione opens the door to find both Black sisters standing on her doorstep. They are grim faced and unsmiling and they step immediately by Hermione as she opens her door. </p><p>  “Hey! Get out! I have to work, you bloody lunatics.” </p><p>  “Already owled your boss,” Bellatrix says, making herself at home. “You’ve come down with a wicked case of the sniffles and it’s very contagious and you’ve been shooting green, sticky snot from your nose for hours. Just so you know. In case he asks.” </p><p>  Bellatrix coos, leaning down to scoop Pickle up from the floor. She oos and awws and rubs his soft little tummy. </p><p>  Hermione’s vision doubles. She opens her mouth, ready to unleash hell, but a steady hand falls on her arm. </p><p>  “Sit down, Ms. Granger,” Narcissa says. </p><p>  “I will not! You can both piss off and shove your apologies up your -” </p><p>  She doesn’t finish. Narcissa sighs, as if at a particularly precocious child, and gives Hermione a gentle shove to the chest, pushing her back onto the couch. Bellatrix, still cradling Pickle against her cheek, throws herself into Hermione’s lap, smiling smugly. </p><p>  “No, no, pet,” she smiles. “You’re not going anywhere.” </p><p>  “Get off me!” </p><p>  “Ms. Granger.” Narcissa snaps, her blue eyes flashing. “If you don’t shut up, I’m going to disappear your mouth. I personally believe that would be an absolute tragedy. So please do shut your gob.” </p><p>  Hermione falls silent. Bellatrix snickers. </p><p>  “Thank you.” Narcissa sits, smoothing her dress under her legs as she does. “Now that I have your attention, I would first like to apologize.” </p><p>  Hermione glares at her. </p><p>  Narcissa sighs. “I thought - well, perhaps I was too eager. And I, Bella and I, should have spoken with you before I tried anything so crass. I truly regret hurting you, Ms. Granger. But I think we might work out our differences if only you would give us a chance to speak.” </p><p>  “Oh, fuck speaking,” Bellatrix says. “Here’s how it is, pet.” </p><p>  And right before Hermione’s goggling eyes, Bellatrix leans forward, catching Narcissa by the back of the neck. She presses a rough kiss against her lips. Not a very sisterly kiss. Rather, there’s far too much tongue than one would strictly provide their sister with. </p><p>  Hermione, gobsmacked, flustered, face melting at a terminal speed, can only watch. </p><p>  When they pull apart, Narcissa is dazed and daffy eyed, and Bellatrix is smug. She licks her lips and looks at Hermione, a wicked gleam in her dark eyes. </p><p>  “Is that enough for you, you thick, silly girl?” Bellatrix asks. "Do you understand now?" </p><p>  Hermione swallows harshly. Pickle meows adorably and Bellatrix gives him a kiss and sends him on his way. </p><p>  Hermione takes a breath. “I - I -” </p><p>  Narcissa stops her with a hand on her cheek. “Here’s the thing of it, Ms. Granger. I quite like you. I enjoy your conversation and your company. And I very much enjoy other aspects of you.” A pointed look here and Hermione nearly dies. “But I do understand if you do not feel the same. Or don’t feel comfortable. We are not here to force you.” </p><p>  “Just to corrupt you,” Bellatrix chimes, playing with a strand of Hermione’s hair. </p><p>  “Erm…” Hermione says. </p><p>  “Very eloquent.” Narcissa smirks, arching an eyebrow. “I understand exactly what you mean.” </p><p>  Hermione takes a moment to breathe, to compartmentalize her thoughts. She lets out a breath from her nose and gives a brisk nod. “If you call me by my first name, I think we can get somewhere.” </p><p>  Narcissa smiles. A warm, genuine smile that makes Hermione’s chest glow, her stomach giving an approving flutter. </p><p>  “Hermione.” Narcissa says. </p><p>  Bellatrix whoops, leaping to her feet. She pulls Hermione up with her, leaning up to catch her in a searing kiss. She reaches up, unknotting her scarf, tossing it to the floor, her nimble fingers setting to work on her coat buttons. </p><p>  “Bella,” Narcissa chides. “Isn’t that a bit fast?” </p><p>  Removing her mouth from Hermione’s lips, Bellatrix cups her cheeks, looking intently into her eyes. “Too fast?” </p><p>  “Not fast enough.” </p><p>  Bellatrix beams, shooting her sister a toothy grin. “There.” </p><p>  “Ahem. Well, before that begins, I have a list.” </p><p>  “Now is not the time for bloody lists,” Bellatrix says. </p><p>  “Actually, I would like to see it,” says Hermione. </p><p>  “Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Bellatrix throws up her hands. </p><p>  But Narcissa smiles. She takes Hermione’s hand, pulling her back onto the couch. She snaps her fingers and a sheet of parchment appears. She plucks it from the air, spreading it over their knees as she points. </p><p>  “This is a list of sexual preferences, allergies, and safewords.” It’s a long list. “Just so that we’re all on the same page.” She giggles at her joke. </p><p>  Narcissa giggling...Hermione sighs. </p><p>  Be still my heart. </p><p>  Hermione bends her head, scanning the list. She quirks an eyebrow at Narcissa’s safeword; Oennophilia. </p><p>  “Well it’s not going to come tumbling out in the throes of passion,” Narcissa defends herself. </p><p>  “Do you have a quill?” </p><p>  Narcissa supplies one with another snap of her fingers. </p><p>  Hermione adds her own safeword; antidisestablishmentarianism.</p><p>  Narcissa gives an approving nod. “Very nice.” </p><p>  The quill scratches over the parchment. </p><p>  “Oh, I’d rather not do that one,” Hermione says. “Or put anything there.” </p><p>  “Understandable.” </p><p>  Watching the two women, their heads bowed together, painstakingly reviewing a list of sexual kinks, Bellatrix snickers. “Nerds.” </p><p>  And then, unceremoniously, she gently takes the parchment from them and grabs them each by the hand. She pulls them towards the bedroom.</p><p>  “We’ll never get to everything on that list in one day,” she says, leading them. “So why don’t we run through the basics and you two hens can cluck over your list later?” </p><p>  “We can certainly try,” Narcissa says, Hermione laughing with her. </p><p>  “That’s the spirit.”</p><p>  Bellatrix winks at them and kicks the door shut as she pushes them towards the bed. </p><p>  Crookshanks and Pickle, bemused, trundle off to their food bowls. </p><p>  “What are they doing in there?” Pickle asks. </p><p>  Crookshanks gives his paw a casual lick. “I’d rather not think about it, chappy.” </p><p>  “Oh.” Pickle squeaks. “May I have a bit of your fish?” </p><p>  Crookshanks flickers his tail and gives a large, toothy cheshire grin. “Help yourself.” </p><p>  And so Pickle does. Crookshanks, gentleman that he is, turns his large ears away from the bedroom door and sets about giving his bum a vigorous cleaning.</p>
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